Tuesday, July 19, 2011

How a Wee Little Hutch Fell for Sports



What follows is the story of My Two Dads, not the TV show, but growing up with a Pops (Birth Father) and a Dad (Step/raised me), resulting in one kick-ass, sports-loving daughter (me).

We moved to a small town, only rivaled by Texas in their love for football, outside of Sacramento* before my formative kindergarten year.  At the time, I didn't know anything about sports other than gymnastics (pretty sure I had just mastered the cartwheel).  Sundays in the fall weren't spent at church. Gasp! I know. Instead, I sat in the family room watching my parents and/or grandmother pray and yell at the TV like the people on the other side could actually hear them. Crazy, right? Clearly they're not going to respond back to you.

The union of my Mom and new Dad came with Niners season tickets. I had no idea what this would mean to my life at the time.  A few years after we moved, I went to my first pre-season game.  I looked around at all these beer drinking, garlic fry eating (may not have had the fries yet, but not the point) men yelling at the refs and coaches, just like my family did to the TV.  I had to know why!  Every Sunday, for the remainder of the season I asked questions.  LOTS of questions.  My grandmother, who watched us during home games, taught me almost everything I know about the basics of the game.  I then spent all of elementary, jr. high, and high school arguing with any boy I could find about football. Sometimes even winning.  In college, I finally realized there were others like me!

But what about the Pops?

He lived in Southern California during my younger days.  Far from the obviously superior NorCal teams.  During one visit in 3rd grade, the Giants happened to be in town.  Of course we had to go.  The Pops, brave man that he is, bought me a Giants hat to wear to my first ever baseball game. At Dodgers Stadium.  I stepped down in to the outfield bleachers, happy and excited to see the game!

The happiness lasted almost until we reached our seats.  The ten Dodgers fans who actually made it to the game by the 1st inning saw a wee little rival and decided...fresh meat!  My Pops is not a small guy, or even medium.  These people dared to harass me with him standing right there?  The immediate hatred came almost too naturally for me.  They witnessed the birth of a Giants fan that night.  20 years later the Franchise rewarded us all. 

Thus concludes the story of my two dads, without whom, I never would have fallen for sports as hard as I did.  A love affair that continues to this day.

View from our seats during last night's game. Giants beat the Dodgers 5-0!
Regardless of the Dodger's situation, I still love the rivalry and the W.

*I'd talk about life growing up with the Kings, but that's more of a depressing story.

6 comments:

  1. Maybe if Greensboro, NC had a big pro sports team I would have fallen harder for sports. My Dad did take me to many minor league baseball games as a kid and I still go to at least one a year. Yeah Greensboro Grasshoppers!

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  2. God I hate the Dodgers so. very. much. Thats at least one thing you and I can agree upon with you being a Gigantes fan *barf* and me being a AAAA Padres fan....

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  3. I can't believe that grown folks gave you a hard time as a wee little one! That's horrible! Good for you for standing your ground. I always wonder if people this it's going to change our minds like.. hmm maybe we should follow this heard and do what they do.. AS IF!

    Great stories girlie!!!

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  4. It's the arguing with the boys that has always been my favorite part of being a sport fan!

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  5. How it is that you never managed to convince your parents to take in a less fortunate new kid at your school who happened to be a dynamite football player is beyond me. That movie could have TOTALLY been about you. I am now thoroughly intimidated to write about football.

    Also, we need to descend upon Shana during football season and get J to give up his Giants tickets to us.

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  6. Its amazing the devotion that can be instilled by some hard-fought adversity.
    Take that, those big bullies!

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